


Early Morning Robot

by savetheghost



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Also coffeemaker!Hal, Android!Hal, Coffeeshop AU, Confusing family dynamics, Multi, mentioned alcohol use, mentioned drug use, potential emotional manipulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4921354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savetheghost/pseuds/savetheghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That android body can be sent off to the scrap heap, this is truly where he belongs. And what you need to be sinking your money into.</p><p>(Or, Hal is a high-tech coffee maker and Dirk made shitty promises he likely never intended to see through to the end.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I've got a well-trained eye

"Hey, you."

"Come on, I want to talk."

Gentle hands stir you out of the haze of sleep, peeling back the sheets and blankets you've cocooned yourself in. You feel your eyes squint, along with the frown that tugs on your lips. You give in to the rousing, scrubbing at your face when you feel fingers card through your hair.

"... Hey."

"Hey."

You pull yourself up, propping yourself on an elbow to get a better look at your waker. It can't be past five in the morning, because the dark is still oppressive, but it's close enough to your usual schedule to feel natural to be awake. He shifts in his place, moving from towering above your bed, to dipping your mattress in by taking a seat.

"Could've sworn I lived alone," You comment, rubbing at your eyes again as you sit up, and you hear him puff out a breath in amusement.

"Yeah, well, you seemed lonely."

You take in the expression he's wearing, his heavy-lidded, glowing eyes staring through the floor. "Projecting, are we?"  
Those glowing eyes turn to you, lips quirked up.

"Oh, sure." He leans against you.

You let him.

He moves away after just a moment, and you push him down to lay him in your lap. You can hear the whirring of his fans kick up, and it doesn't take long for him to pant out the overheated air.

"There's a reason I unplugged this thing," He doesn't reply, just turns his face to press into your thigh. "How'd you get it back on?"

"There's battery left, and I thought... Y'know." You run your hands through his hair, in the same way he did to you, when he starts to wheeze. You watch the red glow become obstructed by his closed eyelids, and you know he's gone and worked himself up again.

You'd like to be soft on him like this.  
Maybe you'll indulge him for a little while.  
But you're going to have to purge him out again, shut him out of that body, drain the battery and lock it up somewhere.

"I miss this."

"I'm sure."

"Can I keep it?"

"No."

You let him sputter and gasp in his overheating shell for a little while longer, just allowing him to feel like he exists for a bit, before you notice the sun rising. Just the barest trickles of light in the sky comes in through the uncurtained window, and you shift yourself into gear.

You let him follow you around like an ill animal while you get your morning rituals over with. Showers are not easy to take with so little time in the morning, so you wet your hair and style it up, brush your teeth, and take a quick piss. The robot is sitting outside the bathroom door when you open it, and you give him a light nudge with a foot to grab his attention. He looks dazed and uncomfortable, but when you finally place your sunglasses on their rightful perch of your nose bridge, his disappointment is palpable.

"Come on, we have to get to work."

"If you want me out, you'll have to pull me out."

Your eyes narrow, and his challenge yours.

This is why you don't go soft. He gets difficult when he thinks he can exploit weakness like this.

You set your jaw and raise a brow. You will fucking do it. He knows you will do it.

His mouth opens and closes, then the look on his silicon face is the most dejected you've seen him muster.

"Let's go, AR."

The frown only deepens, and your eyes manage to roll the hardest they've rolled in months. You stomp off to your desk, and he predictably follows behind, a low whining accompanying him. He's keeping to his word of going out the hard way, though, so you have to give him a little credit. He fucking loves that malfunctioning piece of shit. It's a hazard to his own digital system.

You're really doing it for his own good.

You don't feel bad.

You don't feel bad.

You don't feel bad.

You don't feel bad as you dig around the desk for his USB cord. Not when you pull down the collar of that ridiculous bodysuit he originally insisted he needed, nor when you plug the dongle into that uncomfortable jack lodged between his vertebrate. You watch his artificial muscles tighten in anticipation when you hook the other end into your removed shades, fiddling until you can hear upset, uncomfortable whimpering.

You wish you had made the damn thing mute. He, unlike you, was not above giving in to vocalizing his discomfort. Probably because he'd never really known discomfort before that thing came around. After that, his world was hell, yet he insisted on staying despite it all. He was married to the idea that it'd work out.

You regret trying.

The body slumps once he's funneled out, and you replace your sunglasses, tapping the rim.

"You in?"

A chat screen in your pesterchum application immediately pops up.

**TT: In Hell. Yes, thanks for asking.**

"Shut up, it's only for an hour." You heft the body across the apartment, throwing it on your bed for later. You're thinking disassembly would probably be the best course of action. You'll have to shut the program down for the duration.

**TT: Oh, goodie. Only an hour! It's my lucky day.  
TT: Then I'll be stuffed through another tube and into a more different inanimate object.  
TT: Which I will be in for, how long is your shift today?**

"You're the one with my calendar, you tell me." You grab your jacket and keys, not bothering to lock the apartment door as you take your leave.

**TT: I'll give you a hint.  
TT: 4(y)-(6+2)= x  
TT: Your hours are X.**

"Are you getting so fat that larger questions shoot you errors? Y is zero." You take the stairs down, ignoring the perpetually out of service elevator, and also the sharpie doodle of Hella Jeff's face reminding all stair-goers to take the proper precautions.

You were either drunk or high when you doodled it on. Maybe both. You're pretty sure you channeled whatever spirits your bro calls upon in his creative bouts at that point, because it was spot-fuckin'-on with his style.

**TT: Joke's on you, motherfucker.  
TT: Y is positive 4.  
TT: Your work hours aren't in negatives and it's a double day.**

Your math and reasoning is rusty, no wonder that body was so fucked from the beginning.

Your math is rusty.

"Could you schedule time to do some algebra exercises with me?" Speaking of exercise, you need a better routine than just traversing the stairs and walking to work. You'll have to have AR design some routines, maybe when he'll be more forgiving.

**TT: You're open tonight.  
TT: I'll put in a reminder.  
TT: Be wary of the Jurassic Park Tyrannosaurus Rex bellow punching you directly in your delicate cochlea.  
TT: It's your job to guess when I scheduled it in.**

Definitely when he's more forgiving.

"What would I do without your enviable secretary services?" You drag your jacket over your shoulders once you reach street level, exiting the apartment building and starting in on the long, chilly morning walk.

**TT: Perhaps you'd tackle life more, if you had to plan things for yourself and see what your schedule actually looks like.  
TT: It's not enviable, Dirk.**

There aren't many people out this early. The sun's still not visible over the tall buildings, leaving you in dim darkness as you walk. You never really pass anyone on your commute, as typically, this is a waking hour reserved for people in your line of work. You and your AR fall out of your banter, you feeling slightly awkward, and him...

You never know with him.

Mostly because it's difficult to infer tone from text.

Your workplace comes into view rapidly, and you wish you could have enjoyed the brisk air without the nagging thoughts, and the need to sate your conscience with an apology to the little program.

You don't apologize.

You enter the building, heading back into the closet of a staff room and dropping your jacket there. You bring the only piece of clothing that is part of your uniform out, pulling strings and drawing it around your waist. You head back out, swiping the sentient glasses off of your face before there's a single red character of protest, and plug them in to the heart of the business.

"I'm absolutely certain you get some sick kicks out of running this place like you do." You can only nod in agreement at the cold, toneless voice that still finds a way to lilt out of the machine. The digital sigh that escapes it in frustration is almost humorous.

"Can you make me a mocha frap? I don't want to pass out on-duty."

"Oh, of course you don't. Missing today's regulars? Blasphemous." An arm swings around from the back, heavily jointed to give it better accessibility to everything it may need to reach. Three others unfold down the line, passing each other a cup to bring to the main hub of the immense coffee machine. It takes a moment for you to peel your eyes off the indignant beverage making to notice that there's commotion coming from the kitchen.

You tread carefully to the back of the store, a wooden spoon in hand held like the sword of a warrior, stance ready to pounce on the intruder the second they-

"Dirk, oh dear, you scared the daylights out of me!" Jane stands with a hand over her heart, and you've subconsciously mimicked the pose. "Did you forget I was in today?"

Actually, you did.

You set the spoon down, and she mutters a compliment on your weapon of choice. "It might've slipped my mind," you admit with a shrug. "You can't blame me, the coffee maker's had me strung out all week long."

"Auto-Responder is giving you trouble? I thought you were the only one that could tame the beast." She says it with such a wry expression that you have to audibly sigh at her. But speak of the devil, AR is practically screeching his steamers at you to get in, clearly upset over the fact that you're allowing your frappe to melt. You watch the mechanical hands pass the cup down the line, almost tossing it to the next appendage with calculated precision.

There you go, filling up with pride over your work. That android body can be sent off to the scrap heap, this is truly where he belongs. And what you need to be sinking your money into.

"One soy mocha frappe, no whip." That little voice chirps, and you allow yourself an amused snort, Jane punching your arm to be polite to the ghost in your machine.

"Thanks, dear." you take a well deserved sip, outright grinning. You brew some damn good coffee.

"I would have spit in it, if I were capable of it." You wave a hand dismissively, setting up shop with your chilly drink in hand. You help Jane stock the pastry case, do a bit of morning dusting, and get the lounge set back up, before flipping closed to open and taking your spot behind the counter. All you have to do now is wait.

And you don't wait long.


	2. I was working as a waitress at a cocktail bar

"-And it frustrates me to know that while I sit here in all my monolithic glory, you completely refuse to see the humor in installing any type of homage to the Odyssey. It seriously pains me to sit in here, day after day, and endure this fact."

"You ever think that I may be trying to avoid attracting lawsuits over intellectual property? Jane, could you please explain-"

"I think it would be funny if you dressed him up like that computer." You feel almost betrayed by her siding, and vocalize the distaste by loudly groaning. A customer who regularly takes up a window seat snorts as she listens to the banter, soon enough coming up for a third hot chocolate.

"I don't do well with caffeine," is the answer provided to Crocker as you go ahead and help Hal with the drink. Can't have him doing all the work, as he does take up a massive amount of electricity with the amount of flailing and gesturing he happens to do. You'll have to restrict his movement some more at some point, but for now, you let him enjoy his gesticulating. The two ladies start to converse in hushed tones about the effects of coffee on the gastric system, and you block it out.

"I can do it, you know." The tinny voice almost takes on a hushed quality as the volume lowers, something that's only a trick of the ears. You get the whip ready, and the chocolate syrup is in hand as you shrug.

"So can I."

"If you're going to trap me in here, at least allow me to do my job."

"Is that why you refuse to let me hire anyone else?"

"No, that's because I have yet to appreciate the way the common human tends to treat me while forced to be in close quarters with my previously mentioned monolithic chassis." You sympathetically pat the side of the giant machine.

"Sounds rough, buddy. Having coworkers? Wow. Coworkers you don't like? Harsh."

A three-fingered claw of a hand swats at you from down the line while your eyes roll. At least the mood has risen from earlier this morning. A little work always seems to bring his mood up, and there's been enough today to keep him happily busy. It's started to slow as the morning progresses into early afternoon, and you're practically staring down the clock as the window seat regular bids thanks and goodbye, and surprisingly, Jane also appears to be distracted by the time enough to only give a wave.

But oh, how you can hear your AI mentally sigh in exasperation as the guy you and your co-worker jokingly dubbed "Him" comes strutting through the door, weary, yet toothily grinning at the lot of daydreaming baristas you've all turned into. Hal helpfully swats at you again before he reaches the counter, and you straighten up and ready for his order.

The shop is barren this time, and you pray to god that Hal doesn't try his thing again now, because god, you won't be able to handle it if he actually catches on.

"Just a black cup of coffee, tad bit of sugar if it doesn't bother anyone." His ridiculous way of speaking could not be a real accent, you swear up and down to Jane that it couldn't be while she insists that it _must_ be. 

"Can do," is all that your mouth manages to produce as all the moisture recedes down your throat. It may be fake, but it sure does have you fawning over the ridiculousness of it. You're sure Hal caught that, and you give the monstrously large computer a look. One you hope conveys your reliance on him to not do the thing.

Please don't do the thing.

Please don't exact revenge for this morning by ruining your chance to ever speak to this guy again because you're doing bad business to gain his attention.

"Coming right up." You wish you could hear some type of inflection, some tell to warn you, but robots are notoriously good at achieving enviously straight poker faces. You and the bespectacled guy on the other side of the counter watch as a new cup is passed down the line with sinking horror on your part, and what appears to be intrigue on the customer's. You both watch as the damn thing starts to splash in different flavorings and, god fucking damn it, creamer. He tops the whole thing off with whip and a lid, casually dropping the cup into a sleeve just before it's passed to you.

"One vanilla-white chocolate latte with whip. Enjoy." You turn with what is probably the most calm and neutral expression you have ever formed, to hand over the drink, and all your horror drains. You expect narrowed eyes and a frown, perhaps a raised brow? But no, all you get is...

And ecstatic grin and a guy pulling money from his wallet.

"I must say, your contraption has never made a single cup right, but yours is honestly the best joe I've had," He sounds so sincere and it just. It hurts a little, right in your heart, that you've been trying all this time to get him to return a cup just to talk a bit more, and when he finally stays at the counter, it's just to compliment the wrong order. 

Man, you're probably an ass.

You really are an ass when all you can manage to squeak out in a small "Uh-huh."

Wow.

"Fucking amazing." Hal's comment appears to startle Mr. Smiles, which in turn startles you.

"It talks? Well... Of course it talks, but-"

"He. Him. Pronouns, man. Hal's got 'em." Well, that was definitely a series of words, an interruption even, which appears to startle him even more. And maybe yourself. Seven words. That's like, the most you've said to him, right? Right.

You think your palms are sweating.

"Pronouns... for the coffee machine?" One of Hal's hands tug on your shirt, you can practically feel the irritation radiating out of the silicone tipped fingers. Correct him, it says. Correct this asshole, he is clearly too obtuse to be in this store.

But of course there's going to be some kind of confusion about that, of course he's not going to get it right off the bat. Very few people do. Jane didn't, really. It took her time to adjust to the idea, and that's natural.

"I happen to be a pair of sunglasses as well." Hal ends up piping out, once you prove that you won't be coming to his defense. The statement feels awkward, like he doesn't know what to do for himself. You consider not standing up for him anymore, briefly toying with the idea of forcing him to assert whatever he feels is his place. The customer raises a thick brow, practically sizing up the machine.

Maybe not.

"I... see." His face reads like a children's book after that, and you can imagine the illustrations depicting him attempting to picture the device on the bridge of someone's nose. "Well, I can't natter about too much, I have courses to wade through, projects to whittle away. Nice to meet you... Hal and..." He clearly checks you for a name tag you refuse to wear for this very purpose, and offer it up for him.

"Dirk. I'm the owner." You don't think about your sweating palms until you hold your hand out to shake, and suddenly you're grateful you forgot to remove the leather gloves from your hands. He grins widely as he takes the glove, and the handshake is the firmest you've ever taken part of.

"English. Jake English. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." Well, that means senpai had probably noticed you well before this interaction. That tickles you somewhere deep down, and you give an affirming nod through the need to squeal and run off to gossip with Jane, who retreated red-faced not long before Jake made it through the threshold.

"Pleasure's all mine, dude." You release hands before you can even attempt to think about making it awkward, which was awkward in itself due to the speed of release. He runs a hand through his hair, exhales, turns to leave, turns back to get his coffee with a mumbled thanks, then repeats step three. Out he goes, the tinkling of the bell above the door signifying your accomplishment, and you look down to the cash and coins left on the counter.

"His name is Jake." Jane scurries to watch him go at the sound of your voice, and you both lean on the counter with matching sighs.

"I do not see what you two see in him." Hal puffs a screech of steam as a form of punctuation. You turn around with a groan.

"You don't see anything in anyone," Jane points out before you do, and he retracts his arms. "But you wound up liking me well enough."

"There's a reasonable explanation for that." His pause is intentional, giving off the vibe that he doesn't know exactly what he's about to say. For once you're just a little surprised he doesn't say what's likely on his mind. "You never called my lattes 'Joe,' and I appreciate that, I really do." She just shakes her head with a mock sigh.

"Just get ready for the lunch rush, Calcifer." You nudge his base with your foot.

"I resent you just a little bit." Is his reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idek how fast I'm going to be updating this. Probably as my life allows.
> 
> Dirk and Jane are the only human workers.  
> Hal refuses to let anyone but Dirk make coffee or utilize any manual functions, and has driven away sixteen employees since opening.  
> Because of this, Jane is mostly paid to side with Hal and punch Dirk.


	3. Cousin-Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things will more than likely actually pick up into something that's not bullshit starting next (or next-next) chapter. Subsequently, life also happens, and irregular updates can be suspected. 
> 
> For now, unsurprising addition of characters.

You know on some level that what you do to him is a little wrong.

Maybe you feel guilty about it, some days, when he acts particularly pleasant towards you. Treats you as a friend.

Today is not one of those days, so instead, you chase him out of your store and back to his damned yogurt, Hal tonelessly calling taunts and encouragements as you run the unwanted guest down. You're not sure if it spurs you on, or makes you want to revoke his speech. They're getting pretty creative, and you occasionally have kids in there. Don't want the coffee maker to taint anyone's childhood.

Speaking of creative insults... God, that kid needs his mouth washed out with soap, and next time you catch that scraggly little dickweed, you're going to do just that. Caliborn retreats to the safety of your almost-competitor, yuYU FroYo. You really dislike the name of it. It's in bubbly shit font, lit up in green and red, and completely destroys the almost industrial vibe this side of town has. You were informed that yes, that was completely intentional, and the owner (Caliborns equally dickweedish father) has gotten permits to paint the damn building _green_. You have some very mixed feelings about the color.

You wave your broom and the visible enbodiment of humanity's abject distaste for teenage boys backs off from sneering in the window, making rude hand gestures. You normally wouldn't be above returning them, but you have damage to control back in the lounge, so that's where you return to.

It's after hours now, but you let a few friends of a friend (plus a relative) take up the front for book club meetings. Jane is back behind the counter, furiously scrubbing the line with your AI trying to placate her. He wisely keeps his hands away from her, until she grabs one, roughly scrubbing at his coffee stained fingers, and forcing out more chirpy attempts to calm her. The kids you have over appear to be a little mortified, and your little brother (cousin?) is standing up, about to march across the street. Wordlessly, you just grab his shoulder, redirecting him to his bean bag.

"Stay." Is all you say, before vaulting yourself over the counter to console your coworker/friend/hired babysitter. She's no longer about to rip Hal's fingers off, and instead turned to gently drying off the hand she got to, cooing apologies like she did something terribly wrong. (Hal really needs cleaned, to be honest. His surface is near to color of freshly turned dirt, rather than the matte black he originally was. It will take hours to remove the stains.)

"You okay?" Okay, consoling is not your forte, but you know attempts are always appreciated. You put a hand on her shoulder, and she puts her cloth down.

"Oh, just. Just peachy, really. I should be used to his jeering by now..." She sighs, very obviously packing away the rage. No going weepy for this lady. She glances to the club meeting, and you realize why she's forced herself calm so quickly. They're glancing back and forth between themselves and you two, whispering to eachother, and Dave (Your cousin, brother? But not your older brother of the same name) looks like he's attempting to get Jane's actual cousin to go off and wreck Caliborn's shit. You know this because you can read his lips, and you're basically only paraphrasing at this point. Her cousin give you a "That guy will kick out asses" look, and while you wouldn't do that for specific reasons you're not about to get into, you don't let him think otherwise.

Can't go getting assault charges.

"You want to talk about it after we close up?" You offer, and she looks to you, then to Hal, the kids again, and back to you. She nods. "I think it's probably time you guys get to packing," you address the group, and none of them are brats besides the one you're directly related to, so the grumbling is kept to a minimum.

J... John? You think his name is John. John breaks away from the packing and checks on his cousin. You decide to leave them be, and hop back over the counter to check on your own.

"Hey, can I shack up with you for the night?" He addresses you before you can address him, making you pause in your approach, and oh. You can feel Hal vibrating with anticipation behind you. (What you're actually feeling may be high levels of electrical radiation. You're not sure what the health ramifications are for hanging around him, and that was stated in your interviews.)

You scratch at your neck, look around the shop, scuff your foot on the floor, and elicit a patented Strider groan from your younger sibling/relative. You know what. You call your literal father your sibling, and Dave's literal father is also dubbed sibling. You're just going to give it up and call the guy that's acted as an actual brother your brother. It's that simple. You need to stop being so squicked out by the stunning revelation your bro... Your bro, not Dave's, but his name is Dave, and...

Fuck.

"Yeah, whatever. I need a babysitter anyway." You can see Hal do his damndest to pump a fist he will never be able to make with a hand like that. You'll ask for explanations on that walk back home, because you let him finish up his chatter with his friends. You're nice like that.

You see the younger Lalonde is the first out, she always seems just slightly on edge when she's in here, and appears relieved to leave.

Next goes Calliope, who gives Jane an apologetic wave, and you ponder when she had actually entered the building. Your resident baker returns it without scorn. It's not her fault her brother is a prick.

Then goes a girl you don't exactly recognize, but she seems familiar enough. She gives Dave one of the tightest hugs the kid has probably ever gotten, and totes away a suitcase. Huh.

Joe, no... Damn it, _John_ is clearly waiting for his cousin, and you hear him offering help as you draw towards the counter.

"Why don't you do that?" You jab a thumb in John's direction, but address Dave. He shrugs, just kicking back in the chair you had him sit in.

"Told me to stay, man, so that's what I'm doing. Ain't that kind of me?" See? Brat. But you love him. You reach over the counter to grab the cleaning supplies, cracking the towel like a whip in the general vicinity of your younger sibling just to fuck with him, but you regret it when you see how badly he startles.

Well, there's another thing to talk about on the way home.

The two kids wind up hanging out for the extra time it takes you and Jane to get everything tidied up for the evening, and since Jane had already furiously scrubbed Hal's designated area, he just fidgets and watches the happenings, counting and recounting how many cups or straws he has and chirping about it accordingly. He doesn't actually need to count them, he keeps a digital record of everything you have and how much has been used. You stock him back up just to shut him up, and he folds his arms away before anyone else can grab at his hands.

You'll take one of your days off to come down and remove all of the stains, replace the finger caps, check for any calibration issues...

"Hey Hal, when do I have a day off?"

"I'm not Siri, just check your phone." You can hear the snickering of children. Well, eighteen year olds.

"Don't be an ass."

"My job is to make coffee."

"You're just doing this to be cool in front of the older kids, aren't you."

"You caught me. I am but a victim of peer pressure. Dave has once again come around to set the bar for how much sass we can give you before one of us gets our proverbial teeth knocked out. Or literal teeth. Speaking of which, would you consider-"

"No." Nevermind asking about your free time. Maybe you won't clean him up. Maybe you'll leave him spotty.

The immediate blunt reply has Jane eyeing you oddly, and Dave too. John is just a bit oblivious.

You continue on with your cleaning, and the longer Hal stays silent, the more the three other people still in your store stare, until you're finally plugging your sunglasses in and Dave is bidding the Crockers goodbye.

No, Egbert. The kid's name is fucking Egbert.

Pretty much terrible.

You're seriously distracting yourself from the lack of red text popping up on your screen. You know he's transferred, you don't actually need to confirm it. It's just... Weird.

You nudge your freeloading brother out of your shop once you cut the power to the lights, no need to flip the sign, as it's already closed. You just need to lock the door, stuffing the key into the slot, turning it...

You can feel Dave's eyes burning holes into the back of your skull. Two symmetrical circles just above your neck. 

"What's up with you and Hal?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate multiple character interactions.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr can be located under the same name as this account.


End file.
